When I was a child I was ferocious. I was wildly loving with a temper to match and a huge propensity for tears (not unlike my five year old daughter). I was brave and tender (like my seven year old son), and I always, always leapt before I looked. Because I trusted. I was lucky enough to have parents who held me and an internal compass that guided me into believing that whatever was there to catch me would do it willingly. And that even if the landing hurt a little (and it did) I’d be okay.
My prayer right now is surrender. In life. In writing. In the industry. Surrender is a theme I’ve explored in my writing and it’s a theme to which I keep returning. I can’t live courageously, in truth and vulnerability, unless I also surrender to the wild and scary unknowing of what it means to be human. I think mostly, control is an illusion.
I’ve been told to write every day. I’ve been told to write late at night. I’ve been told to wake early and write in the wee hours.
I know this is well-meaning advice, and I understand the premise that writing itself must become habitual, such that it’s not just part of who we are as writers, but it’s what we do. But we can’t really take advice unless it resonates somewhere deep in us, can we? Here’s the truth: I write in carved-out, precious bits of time between schlepping kids around and exercising and all the other things life requires of me, or rather, things I require of life.